black

I decided to do a little New Year's cleaning this afternoon. I got rid of a ton of clothes. Man it felt good. Gone are 6 pairs of jeans (could have tossed out 2 more pairs but opted out), random pants, numerous skirts and sweaters, and some camis. I love it. Now I have to package them all up to take to my local battered women/homeless shelter. Right now everything is sitting in the dining room (along with hubby's discarded items). It feels like I'm prepping for the JLSJ Rummage Sale. I'm not. That's still a year plus away. I refuse to keep this stuff for that long. Hmm I wonder just how long it's going to take me to get the stuff to the shelter?

So the point of this story ... black pants. I don't own any. Unless you count the black jeans I found today. WTF. Black jeans. Who owns them? Me. What in the heck do I wear them with? Nothing. They've never been worn. They still fit (2 plus years after I bought them). But seriously, what do I wear with them? HELP

Back to the black pants. Or lack thereof. I decided what this means is that I'm not a serious person nor do I have a serious career. I'm never going to be a serious person. Just not happening. Ask the husband. He has a couple of personalities: business husband, husband around his family, husband around my family, friend husband, and just plain old husband (around just me - my fave of course). So how many personae do I have? One. The little wife. That's it. Again, probably why I don't have a serious career. Or a career at all. Oh well. That's probably best saved for another post.

Right now I want to get back to the fact that I own black jeans (which is so shameful and astounding it doesn't matter that I don't own a single pair of real black pants). WTF.